


This Is A Test

by VenatorNoctis



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Dual Genitalia, Dubious Consent Due to Power Differential, F/M, Fisting, but not the most obvious way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:40:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21944500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VenatorNoctis/pseuds/VenatorNoctis
Summary: Fordola draws the attention of Lord Zenos for more than one reason. It could be an opportunity, if she can impress him."You know how I presented," he says. "Do you think you could satisfy me?""It would be my honor to try, my lord," Fordola answers. And if she fails, this is the way she dies. There are worse ends."It would," Lord Zenos agrees. "And that doesn't answer my question."
Relationships: Zenos yae Galvus/Fordola rem Lupis
Comments: 3
Kudos: 38





	This Is A Test

**Author's Note:**

> I suspect there's a sort of limited audience for this. But I'm having fun, okay. >_>

At the end of the strategy meeting, after he silenced a Garlean-born officer to give her the opportunity to speak, after he listened to her ideas and only encouraged her to push harder, after he took her seriously in a way none of them have done since the loss of Lord Gaius, after he gave her _hope_ —after all that, at the end of the briefing, Lord Zenos told her he wanted to speak with her privately that night.

Fordola thought she would be more bitter than she is. This is what the petty, small-minded men of the XIIth say about her, isn't it? That she's a dumb bitch who fucked her way into her position, not a determined officer with a cause to serve. They're wrong; she's touched none of them, and since the experiment most of them wouldn't even want what she has to offer. But Lord Zenos—she caught his scent when he came close enough this afternoon, and it wasn't what she expected at all. It made her _want_.

Now she makes her way through the palace hallways to the room he chose for their assignation, and she tries not to sabotage herself by thinking too much on what he might ask of her. They call her the Butcher down in the conscripts' barracks. That isn't a name for someone who hesitates. She marches up to the door and knocks before she can give herself any more time to overthink this.

"Come in, commander," Lord Zenos calls. Fordola squares her shoulders and opens the door. 

The room was probably used by kings or princes of the old regime for little gambling parties or to smoke Thavnairian dream resin. It's still appointed in the decadent style of Theodoric's court rather than the sparse modernism of the Garleans. Lord Zenos lounges on a couch in the sunken area at the room's center, out of armor, wearing a loosely belted Doman-style robe in imperial crimson. More of his skin is bared than she has ever seen and the scent of him is more obvious than it was at the meeting that afternoon; he must be very close to season by now.

Fordola stops just a pace inside the door. "You wished to see me, my lord."

Lord Zenos beckons, a lazy curl of his fingers. "Come closer. This is a conversation, not a debriefing."

That is an order, not an invitation. Fordola descends the three marble steps to the sunken center of the room. She can see no weapons on his person or in reach, but she has no doubt that he could kill her within seconds should she displease him. She waits. Will he want to exchange pleasantries before making demands?

No. "There aren’t many non-Garleans who’ve been exposed to Black Orchid," he says casually, as though it's simply an observation and not a demand for explanation. Fordola knows better.

"My unit volunteered for a trial, my lord. We were told that the researchers wished to assess a performance-enhancing chemical to see if it produced similar results in non-Garlean subjects."

One corner of Lord Zenos' mouth curves upward. "And?"

_I nearly tore out the throat of the man I trusted at my right hand_. "Both the enhancements and the complications occurred. Three of us presented with alpha symptoms. One presented omega. One was unaffected. ...And one didn't survive."

"A nearly Garlean ratio," Lord Zenos observes. He looks her up and down, but it's not the look of a man deciding whether a woman is worth fucking; it's the look of a man deciding whether an enemy is worth challenging. "And you were the most dangerous of the alpha subjects, commander?"

"I was already the leader of the unit, my lord. The others did challenge me, but mayhap less seriously than they would have a stranger."

Lord Zenos nods, and a tiny fraction of the tension in Fordola's spine eases. She read him correctly, then: like Lord Gaius before him, he would rather have honesty than either flattery or bravado.

"You know how I presented," he says. She nods. She's doing her best to show no reactions, but his musk is unmistakable. "Do you think you could satisfy me?"

"It would be my honor to try, my lord," Fordola answers. And if she fails, this is the way she dies. There are worse ends.

"It would," Lord Zenos agrees. "And that doesn't answer my question."

She lifts her chin and looks him in the eyes. "At the very least I could do better than most of your officers."

He laughs, with that same spark of light in his eyes that he had in the throne room that afternoon. _This 'savage' is willing to hunt her own_. "I don't doubt it," he says. "Come here and show me."

This is a test. It's always a test. _Show me_.

Fordola kneels on the edge of the sofa, on the edge of the crimson robe, between the spread thighs of the Crown Prince of Garlemald, and leans down to kiss him. His mouth is hot and he nips her lip almost immediately, and she bites back. He tastes like steel and some warmth she can't place; it makes her heart beat faster and her hands tighten on his shoulders, makes her start getting hard.

She slips her hands under the open edges of his robe to push it off his shoulders and feel his skin, leaning harder into the kiss at the same time, her teeth scraping his tongue. He growls into her mouth, wrapping his hands around her thighs. Everything about him is a threat, and her body responds with hunger instead of fear, a response she taught herself long before she ever set foot in an imperial research lab. She digs her blunt nails into Lord Zenos’ shoulders and his scent becomes dizzying. 

"You must be driving your officers mad," she gasps when she can make herself release his mouth for an instant. 

His eyes shine so bright and so cold. "It would be entertaining to watch them fight if they were better at it. Perhaps I should turn you loose on them."

Heat blossoms between Fordola's legs, making everything throb. "If that’s how my lord believes our resources are best used, I will gladly—" _make them all bleed_ — "fight for you."

"A pretty image, my little Butcher." He reaches up and snarls a hand in her hair. "But later. Right now I don't want to let you go." He drags her into another kiss and she's practically on top of him by now, his thighs around her waist, his robe barely still covering him.

Barely is too much. Fordola's hands skim down over Lord Zenos' broad chest—the hard contours of muscle and the utter, unbelievable lack of scars—to pull his belt untied and push the silk back. Even presenting omega his cock is at least as thick as her wrist. She runs her fingertips down its length and further, between his legs, to the hot slick of his cunt. He shudders like he's been electrocuted, hips arching up as if to capture her.

Not yet. Fordola pulls back, and that's a test, too, to see if she can get away with delaying Lord Zenos' pleasure even momentarily—but though his eyes flash dangerously, he doesn't snap her neck. She reaches up under the hem of her skirt and snags her smallclothes, stripping them off and tossing them aside. She's hard for the combination of danger and his desire, and Radiance help her she's wet for the Imperial Crown Prince in all his power craving _her_.

"Don't keep me waiting," Lord Zenos purrs. He looks so utterly irresistible, that challenging expression and his cunt slick and flushed. The instincts thrumming in her blood want her to take that easy invitation, to sink her cock into his cunt and her teeth into his throat—but any of his officers could do that, and she can do better.

She slides a hand up the inside of his thigh and strokes him, and he makes a sound that's only barely too restrained to be a growl. He won't thank her for being gentle. She pushes three fingers into him and he hisses, rocking up to take her to the knuckles immediately. With so little resistance, he could easily take more, and if he can, he'll want to. Fordola adds her fourth finger and pushes in until the broadest part of her hand is pressing at his stretched entrance. He writhes, pushing back with a groan, and her cunt aches in sympathy, or envy, or perhaps both.

"More," Lord Zenos says. "Deeper, fill me up."

Fordola's hackles raise at the dissonant combination of a needy omega's scent and Lord Zenos' commanding tone, but she holds in the growl that rises in her throat. What Black Orchid made of them has done nothing to change who they are, and only a short-lived fool forgets it. "As you wish, my lord." She leans into him, pushing, and once her knuckles slip into his wet heat the rest of her hand follows easily, her fingers folding over into a loose fist as his thighs tighten around her waist.

"Yes," he moans as she rocks her fist inside him, "yes, _harder_." His cock pulses against his belly when she pushes deeper, but he stops himself from reaching for it. This is all about what she can do for him, isn't it? And how much it's going to drive her mad, the wet sounds of her fist moving in his cunt as he rocks up to meet each thrust. The sweet, heady scent that makes her crave the chance to claim him, the instinct hot and urgent for all that it's artificial. The way he moves, muscle sliding under unmarked skin as he arches his back to demand more with his body as well as his voice.

He wraps one leg around her back and pulls her closer, so she's pressed right into the juncture of his thighs, her cock so close to where she wants it. And if he's still trying to pull her deeper—Fordola flexes the hand that's inside him, loosening her fist, pressing against his inner walls to feel how much more he can take. His shiver of pleasure makes her cock twitch. "You still need more?"

"I'll take everything you have to offer, my Butcher," Lord Zenos says. "Can your hunger match mine?"

Fordola's heart rate speeds up, adrenaline humming through her. She doubts _anybody's_ hunger could match his, but she's going to do her damnedest. With her free hand she pulls his leg up over her shoulder, shifting her weight to press in close. It'll totally fit. He can take it.

She thrusts forward, sliding her cock into the slicked channel of her open fist where it's still buried in Lord Zenos' cunt. She can't hold back her own snarl this time, that wet heat everything she craves, the friction so perfect she can't remember anything better. Maybe she dies here. But she's fucking the Empire before she goes and it's glorious.

Lord Zenos throws his head back, abandoning himself to pleasure so much that his throat is bared. Fordola turns her head and bites down on the meat of his calf so she won't go for his throat instead, and he shudders, muscle rippling around her hand. She whines through her teeth, feeling him clench down around her and press against her knuckles. Need drives her, licking through her nerves—the scientists said plenty about unbalanced aether and attempts to compensate, but then like now she was too busy trying to ride out her body's urges for theory to hold her attention. All she knows is that this feels right in a way nothing else has, before the experiment or after it.

Her thighs burn and she's panting for breath, sweat trickling down between her breasts as she thrusts faster. The tension is building low in her gut, the almost-uncomfortable sense of weight at the base of her cock. She wants to push deeper, bury her whole length inside him before that weight can swell into a knot—and she fights that instinct, refusing to go that last ilm; no matter how good it feels, this is a test, and she cannot let her guard down that far.

Lord Zenos is so tense his thighs are like steel around her. "Do it," he snarls, "now, fuck, _give_ it to me," and Fordola would never dare name his tone _desperate_ aloud but she thinks it and that thought is what strikes the killing blow, makes her stiffen and cry out. Her cock throbs in her hand, in his cunt, as she spends inside the Imperial Crown Prince.

In this one way he's like every other omega she's bedded: being pumped full of come makes him howl with pleasure and shake apart, sweet flesh clutching tight around her. His cock pulses still untouched between them, spurting hot streaks of come across his belly and making Fordola dizzy all over again with this new raw source of his scent.

When he stills, Fordola can hear her own breathing loud in her ears, nearly in time with the rise and fall of Lord Zenos' chest. Her knot is pressed against the heel of her hand, too tender and uncomfortable, and she does her best to ignore it. Carefully, she slides both her cock and her hand out of him.

"Well done," he says, eyes half-lidded with lazy contentment. "I trust you're satisfied."

"Very much so, my lord," Fordola says. Another instinct tugs at her and this one she listens to, leaning down to lap the fluid from his skin. She shouldn't like the bitter taste of it, thinks perhaps she doesn't, but it whispers _this is mine_ in the same corner of her heart that craved the chance to knot him.

When she sits up, he's watching her with a pleased, possessive little smile on his lips. "My fearless little Butcher," he says. She's no such thing, but it's flattering that he thinks so. "You'll come back tomorrow for my season. And after that's over, you'll come with me when we put your plan into action and hunt the rebels down."

Fordola smiles, bowing her head. "With pleasure, my lord." There's a fire burning behind her ribs, fierce and hot with pride.

This was a test. And she has passed.


End file.
